Anna B Savage is down-to-earth and witchy as hell at the same time. Over her three albums, she’s cultivated a mesmerizing sound and epic image – like David Bowie, Björk, Kate Bush, etc. – that’s gained her a godlike reputation. A reputation which preceded the actual human being behind the art, leaving some to wonder what it would be like to speak to her. Turns out, she’s a grounded, kind of goofy, and perfectly normal person. In our Basic Folk conversation, we explore the duality of her persona – Anna Savage versus her stage name of Anna B Savage – and how her new album, You & i are Earth, reflects a blending of these identities with a focus on nature and love.
In this episode, Anna reflects on the realization of her parents’ unusual musical paths (they are both opera singers) and how it influenced her own creative pursuits. We delve into her songwriting journey, her love for birds, and the evolution of her unique singing voice, which blends classical influences with a jazz singer’s sensibility. Anna also opens up about her stage fright and the progression of her confidence as a performer. She touches on the complexities of being an English person living in Ireland and the importance of understanding the historical context of her new home.
As we navigate the themes of You & i are Earth, Anna reveals the inspiration behind the track “Agnes” and the mysterious allure of the 17th-century plate that inspired the album’s title. With a lighthearted lightning round, we learn about her favorite birthday tea, her ideal stage outfit, and her witchiest recent activity, too.
Acutely expressive, profoundly innovative, and ceaselessly gripping, Scroggins & Rose are masters of sonic storytelling. The project consists of Alisa Rose (violin) and Tristan Scroggins (mandolin), both virtuosic talents with a sprawling list of credits each in their own right. While Scroggins primarily forays in the bluegrass sphere and Rose spent her musical upbringing largely studying classical music, the two alchemize a blend of genres to achieve their distinct style.
The duo’s third collection, Speranza, relays a moving dialogue between fiddle and mandolin, drawing upon a diverse range of musical influences to weave together a thoughtful assortment of colors and textures. Initial ideas for the project began back in the quarantine days of 2020, and Speranza – which consists of six immersive instrumentals, a dynamic assortment of original and familiar tunes – now arrives nearly five years later in a moment where its intonations of hope feel just as crucial.
BGS had the pleasure of sitting down with Scroggins & Rose to discuss their origins, influences, and the percolation of their most recent release.
Congratulations on the album release! To start us off, could you talk about how the two of you came into playing together?
Alisa Rose: We both taught at NimbleFingers, which is a camp in British Columbia.
Tristan Scroggins: It’s a bluegrass week of workshops that has been going on for a couple decades. I always describe it on stage as “sleepaway camp for adults who want to learn how to play the banjo and drink.”
AR: There’s a really nice feel at that camp. Tristan was in a band with his dad at the time, so I did some shows with them there. Then one night, I remember the two of us improvising by a picnic table and we just had a really nice musical chemistry where we follow each other’s ideas around. Immediately it felt like, “Oh, this is a good musical fit.”
TS: At that time I was playing with my dad in Jeff Scroggins & Colorado, and we were touring full-time. So I just ended up in California a lot and I would tack on extra time to come hang out with Alisa. And we started writing music and playing shows. I live in Nashville now, so these days it’s more of a deliberate effort when I come out to collaborate.
At this point you’ve been able to flesh out that musical chemistry over the course of three collections. What would you say unites your musicality or differentiates it?
AR: I think when we improvise, it’s playful and creative and experimental – we’re not afraid to leave what may be reasonable behind, and sometimes that takes us to good places, and sometimes we fall on our faces. We also have a similar sense of rhythm and how we respond to it. It allows us to improvise freely because we feel rhythm in the same way. So that’s where we unify, but we have really different musical backgrounds.
Could you tell me more about that?
AR: Sure. Growing up I played a little bit of fiddle, but mostly I grew up in the classical world. I was a Suzuki kid, so I learned by ear initially, which I think has allowed me to play a lot of different music, but I was learning primarily classical violin growing up. Tristan grew up very much in the bluegrass world, and I’ve studied bluegrass and I’ve played in bluegrass bands, but I still have a different sense of melody and expressiveness. I think a lot about how to make music really expressive emotionally and I play with timings – those two things are less common in the bluegrass world.
TS: I think it’s been really valuable for me, generally musically and especially in the context of this project, to be exposed to those different ways of thinking about playing. I grew up playing with my dad, and in mandolin contests just learning how to play bluegrass, which does instigate this question of, is bluegrass expressive or not? I think it is sort of, but it’s so different from how classical music is expressive or how jazz is expressive. I’ve had to work a lot on navigating that challenge, because for me, I didn’t go to school at all for music. So much of how I play is very instinctual and this project often has me figuring out how to adapt those instincts in order to have more options, especially since there’s just two of us. We have to really be on the same page a lot of the time and work together to fill in spaces or leave holes where we want them to be – they have to line up, and it’s really obvious if they don’t.
Speranza does an excellent job at combining those classical and bluegrass sensibilities to achieve expression while still leaning into roots-like melodies. Can you tell me about the impetus behind your latest release? What drove you to create this third collection?
AR: So our first collection, Grana, was very improvised and we were a new duo. Basically we set out to make a demo – we wanted to record, like, three tunes and get some gigs. We got an Airbnb, rented some recording equipment, had our awesome engineer friend set it up for us, and we just hit record over and over for a weekend. By the end it seemed like it was an album, so that’s how that one came to be. Very improvised, very sort of exploratory. There were like 1000 takes of everything. Well, not actually 1000 because we didn’t have that long, but there was definitely a sort of trial and error of figuring out what we wanted to create.
And then for the second album, Curios, we worked out everything. We rearranged everything and really sought to emphasize the strength of melodies. A lot of that album was about making the melodies come out. To me, it’s also an exploration of different sound colors. We worked with Wes Corbett on that one and he helped bring that out in that album. We really tried to shape each tune into a little story, so they’re more composed. Some have solo sections, but they’re more like little pieces and arches – I mean, I would call them miniatures, but really they’re sort of standard length for bluegrass. In the classical world they might be considered miniatures– little, crafted, sparkly gems.
But we put [Curios] out in the pandemic, which was very anticlimactic. We were supposed to have a release tour and we worked really hard on that album for a long time. We had received a great grant from FreshGrass and were able to do a lot of things in the way we wanted. We worked with Dave Sinko as our engineer, who was awesome, and recorded in this pretty church in Nashville with Egyptian stained glass.
So the third one, Speranza, is more organic. We’ve grown as a duo in terms of creating, so we decided that instead of writing a whole record of stuff we would write and record as we went, or write and improvise as we went, and do some of both. So I believe this album combines the freedom of the first album and the shape and craft of the second album. And the material for Speranza came out of the pandemic – that was such a crazy time. Life seems sort of normal now, but a lot of the tunes started in that time and then we finished them once we could get back together.
TS: I think that in a lot of ways Speranza feels very shaped by the reality of the pandemic, 2020, things getting shut down – the first stuff that we worked on remotely, because we had to. It feels wild that we’ve been working on this for years now. It’s funny, similarly to the pandemic, it doesn’t feel like that was five years ago. We recorded it over different sessions and then mixed it over different sessions.
AR: “Pandemic Buddy” and “Reaper” are the darkest ones – those I did write in like that first month of the pandemic, but I just came up with the beginning idea and then as a duo, over two or three or four visits, we finished writing the pieces together. We’re often coming up with ideas, kind of sitting with them, and then recording voice memos and listening to them. It takes us a fair amount of time to do it and we really flesh out the arrangement and how our parts fit together in person. That tends to be pretty time-intensive. Basically we’re writing the pieces, but we’re memorizing them at the same time, with space for improv – everything is fluid, but the basic composition is pretty worked out. So our compositional process is pretty spacious and lengthy.
What was inspiring you during the composition of these pieces? Any art that you were ingesting or other cultural touchstones of during that moment?
AR: In the beginning of the pandemic, Tristan did a tune challenge, which is where some of these songs started. There was a word prompt every day to write a tune about. For example, “Reaper” began with the prompt “death.” “Pandemic Buddy” was for the prompt “friend.” It was a really nice way to channel energy at the beginning of the pandemic, when everything was crazy. I spent hours every day writing these tunes and trying to get a good video, and I think I got a little better at them as I went.
TS: I mean, it’s sort of an obvious one, but we talk a lot about Mike Marshall and Darol Anger. It’s the same mando and violin pairing, but I love listening to them and listening to other people who do this kind of new acoustic music/composing. I spend a lot of time in Nashville with Wes Corbett. Wes produced our second album, but he’s also a friend of mine, and I helped him with publicity for his first album, which has a lot of really beautifully written instrumental pieces.
It’s interesting – we spent so much time working on this in chunks and that was a very different part of my brain than the part of that was working very hard on, like, Texas-style fiddle tunes. Those weren’t crossing over, exactly. I think rather than being influenced by something specific, it’s more that I try to cultivate something within myself by listening to both stuff I like and new stuff. Absorbing all of that, letting it ferment inside, and then figuring out how to express that all together, rather than trying to emulate any one thing.
AR: I tend to think that when composing, everything you’ve ever listened to, everything that ever resonated with you and definitely anything you’ve ever played with your body or had in your body – whether you danced to it, or you physically played it – is a part of your musical sensibility. I don’t know what I was listening to when I was writing these tunes, but I definitely love Darol Anger and Mike Marshall. I also love Schubert string quartets, I love Beethoven piano sonatas, and I love Debussy piano music – I love a lot of different kinds of music, and I think all of that is part of what comes out. That’s all part of what’s in my head when I’m conceiving of new material.
While Boston may claim its title as the bluegrass capital of the Northeast, acoustic quartet On the Trail is living proof that the Connecticut bluegrass scene is not only alive and well, it is thriving. Composed of four impeccable musicians who each attended Western Connecticut State University to earn vastly varying degrees, On the Trail weaves together an uncommon collection of backgrounds to deliver a unique sound.
Drawing inspiration from opera to the Beatles to jazz, these four achieve a sonic richness that will leave listeners edified and enamored. True to their band’s name, they trailblaze full force with the release of their first full-length album, Where Do We Go from Here.
BGS recently had the pleasure of sitting down with Tom Polizzi (mandolin, guitar, vocals), Matt Curley (bass, vocals), Charlie Widmer (guitar, vocals), and Austin Scelzo (fiddle, vocals) to discuss all things On the Trail.
Congrats on the new album! Will you tell me a little bit about how you all ended up in a bluegrass band together?
Tom Polizzi: Well for me, I was a really, really serious jazz guitar player for a number of years – it was my whole life. Then around the end of high school I started to get a little more disillusioned with what jazz was about and where that could take me in life. I knew about Chris Thile, though weirdly I didn’t know about mandolin’s association with bluegrass, but I knew I was really interested in mandolin, the tone and potential of the instrument. I got a little $400 scholarship from the music department at my high school and bought myself a mandolin as a graduation gift for myself.
I learned to play walking around a camp that I worked at that summer with the thing on my back, playing while I walked anywhere around the camp. I remember standing somewhere at that camp with the mandolin and someone asked, “Do you want to play a bluegrass tune?” I was like, “A what?” And then they taught me “Cherokee Shuffle.” From there, I just started learning fiddle tunes and while in college I pretty much gave up on jazz aspirations. Even though I got my scholarship to school with jazz, I just kind of started playing Doc Watson and bluegrass tunes and the rest is history.
Austin Scelzo: My background was in classical violin. I learned to read [music] growing up in school orchestra and then went on to study it in college. But in the summers of my later high school years, I got sent to those iconic fiddle camps that get so many people in the door and that opened up my whole world to non-classical playing, which eventually propelled me into spending my summers in college exploring different music camps and festivals. My freshman year of college I went to Grey Fox, my first bluegrass festival. And throughout college, I started playing in a bluegrass country group locally. I would play classical music in school systems and then spend summers floating from festival to festival, living out of my car and really digging into the bluegrass stuff, which over time grew to become my primary musical expressive tool. So between the classical/arranging mindset and my investment in traditional bluegrass, that’s kind of where my musical tastes lend themselves to this group.
Charlie Widmer: Austin and I met when I was 19 years old – he’s actually the one that married my wife and me; he got ordained for it. We’ve known each other for such a long time. I had auditioned on a whim for a musical at 16. Didn’t know I could sing. They were doing Grease and I had a crush on a girl at the time. I went into that room and I met my now-wife, that same day at the audition, and I ended up getting the lead role. And then that kind of spiraled into more musical theater and trying to get into music school.
When Austin and I met, I was in school for classical singing and we were both interns at a church in Ridgefield [Connecticut], where we were both paid section leaders in the choir. After about a year of working together, somehow we ended up sitting next to each other. You know, we were in an a cappella group together, lots of different choirs, all these classes, but we just hadn’t connected. But as soon as we sat next to each other it was clear that we were getting along.
And so, fast forward five years, I was in the middle of a gig with my hip-hop soul band. I’d been doing stuff as a front man for a hip-hop soul group and it was awesome. I’m drenched in sweat, and Austin and I are talking in the break and I say to him, “Hey, man, I’ve been listening to Chris Thile and his group, Punch Brothers, and they’re sick, man. If that’s, like, a possibility in bluegrass, I’d love to do something where I’m playing guitar – let me know if a gig pops up.” We kind of agreed that he needed another year to finish school and get settled into being a teacher and everything. And a year later, almost to the day, he said, “I got us something if you want to drive.” It was perfect timing. My other group was falling apart. When this started, it just kept working and going. I don’t think any of us ever thought at that point, six years later we’d be here with an album.
Matt Curley: I was the last member to join On the Trail and I’ve been in the group for about three-and-a-half, four years now. I started playing guitar when I was in middle school and in early high school, I was playing in punk rock bands. When I got to high school, I really wanted to play in the jazz band playing guitar, but the guitarist was very good, So I thought, “I’ll play bass. It’s easy, it’s four strings.” Then the band director points to the upright bass. I remember thinking, “No, no, not that one!” So during that rehearsal it was the first time I ever played upright, and I eventually came back to the bass.
I’m the kind of guy who’s switched instruments several times. I switched to percussion, joining the drum line. I ended up marching drum corps for a few years, which led me to majoring in percussion at WestConn and then to get my master’s degree in Tennessee, right outside of Nashville, in classical percussion performance. For a while I thought I was going to be in professional orchestras, as I was training and practicing to take auditions for triangles and cymbals. Glad I didn’t do that. Then I started teaching band down there in Tennessee and I ended up moving back up here. I was teaching and Austin was the orchestra teacher in the same school, so we started jamming. Up to this point, I knew nothing about bluegrass. Even living in Nashville for a while, I knew nothing about bluegrass. Then I just happened to own a bass, so that led to me showing up to an On the Trail rehearsal. Here we are, three and a half years later.
CW: We also had a banjo player with us for the first three years, Chet, who was from Mississippi and originally grew up in Nashville. Chet lent a hand on some of the songs, even on the album. He got a doctoral offer to go down to Florida and get his doctorate in philosophy. He’s a genius, really such a smart guy – we always hope that Chet will join us again. We just always have a lot of fun together. I think that can be rare in groups.
Absolutely. Y’all have amazing chemistry and it’s evident. You recently released the band’s first full length album, Where Do We Go from Here. What are you each proudest of on the album?
TP: I think the fact that I actually wrote songs with lyrics and they made it somewhere. After I finished school with an audio engineering degree, I did our whole first EP – all of the editing, mixing, mastering – myself. And with this record, I felt like that kind of stuff culminated in a different way, where I knew how to be on the other side of the booth, so to speak, in a way that was productive. I think I was able to help us keep the sessions thoughtful and productive throughout, from a perspective of final product.
I also love that I’ve got a couple of very sad or introspective songs on the album, one of which my fiancée didn’t know I had written. We were on the phone with her mom and she was talking about “Help Me” on the album. She said something along the lines of, “This is so devastating. Tom, you really wrote something beautiful.” And Claire goes, “You wrote that devastating song about heartbreak and loss?!” I had all these things written years ago after I broke up with my ex-girlfriend. Claire had never heard it because I don’t sing it – Charlie sings it on the record and we don’t play it at shows very much. She didn’t know I was capable of even having such sad words in my brain.
AS: I love that this album captures three or four original songs from each of us. My three songs all have a really different feel than anything else I’ve put out and they all mean something really powerful to me. They each capture a timestamp of a part of my life. The title track, “Where Do We Go from Here,” was one of the last songs we recorded, and one of the last songs that we even talked about putting together. It almost didn’t make the album at all. But we’re so proud of that track. That’s the song I’m by far the most pleased with. I also really like the way that “Trouble in My Soul” captured a different side of my voice that I’ve never captured on a record. It’s a lot more gritty, which is kind of cool, and then “Can’t Get You Out of My Mind” has some really nice moments too.
CW: For me, honestly I think the whole album is the pride point. When we did our first record, we had no clue what we were doing. I was really green to bluegrass in so many ways. Those first couple years were trial by fire, where I had no clue about any artists or vernacular and I was constantly terrified of every gig and jam. It felt like everyone was speaking a language. This record feels very full circle – we’d been talking about it forever. It really captures who On the Trail is. As songwriters, I think all of us have gained some confidence, though so much of that has come from just performing these pieces and getting positive feedback from the audience the last six years. When we started we didn’t know we had something, but our friends and family and even strangers told us to keep going. It just kept fueling us, you know? So, yeah, when I think about the proudest thing, it’s that we have this collection.
Given the diversity of musical backgrounds you each come from, where do you feel like your aligned priorities are? Do you have through lines about what you all prioritize and value musically?
TP: I would say one of the biggest factors that held us together is just that joy of making music. One of our biggest frictions, probably, is that diversity of background – even now, in the background of this interview, I’m just wrapping up my marketing job, my day gig, Matt’s driving home from teaching school, and Charlie and Austin both freelance more and do more things that are full-time music. A lot of it has been about finding that balance that brings us all joy and keeps us believing in what we’re doing. But you know, on our toughest days, what drives us ahead is that we love making music together, we love making music on our own and sharing it with one another.
CW: Yeah, as any musician knows, we’re always just chasing that incredible moment. We all share a true appreciation of music, and we are all deeply aligned regarding what exciting music feels like. When something’s hot, we all can agree immediately – it’s not even so much of a discussion.
AS: We’re all also pretty consistent with the vocal harmony, regardless of the song. No matter the arrangement, we value strong vocal harmony and strong vocal presence. So a big part of this group is understanding harmony to a point where we can get really good three-part and other types of arrangements.
TP: For probably the first year and a half, I didn’t sing a note in the band. Vocals have become such a big thing. I learned from these guys, who are and always will be better singers than I, but they coaxed it out of me.
MC: Same for me. I’ve never taken a voice lesson or anything and now I’m singing four or five songs. It’s incredible.
For our final question – you’re our One to Watch, but who are you watching right now? Any creatives, musical artists, or otherwise that are inspiring you right now? Could even be a TV show or a Tik Tok creator.
TP: I’m sure they’ve been featured here a lot, but someone who’s been talked about a lot in our band is AJ Lee & Blue Summit. We love them. We’ve played with them. We’re inspired by them. Lots of our friends just around here, you know, keep us moving. The Ruta Beggars are doing fantastic things. Cahaba Roots, High Horse – all of those guys have so much going on. And if you’re looking for a good TV show to watch, watch Shrinking, because it’ll just rip your heart out. Oh, and one sleeper album – if you love all the music that we’ve talked about, this is an album I’ve heard no one else talk about. Maybe I’m just not talking to the right people, but it’s an album called Passages by Ethan Sherman. It’s got Wes Corbett on the banjo, and Thomas Cassell plays amazing mandolin on that album. I found it very inspiring.
CW: For me, a constant, big influence in songwriting and sticking to your vision and making it work has been Theo Katzman, who’s one of the guys from Vulfpeck. His last record especially resonated incredibly. All of his records have, but that one was during the process of making my album, as well as On the Trail’s album, and it empowered just feeling brave enough to do what we felt was right for the music. He was a big inspiration.
Allen Stone is also a huge inspiration for me as a singer and as a songwriter and he just dropped a new project. I always come back to Nickel Creek and Punch Brothers. Nickel Creek’s last album, I thought, was stunningly brilliant and beautiful.
MC: It’s really a great time for bluegrass, country, and folk music, even in the Northeast, not just down south [or] in Nashville. There are a lot of groups that are getting really big here. I mean, we have a Connecticut group, North County Band, that is doing some good things. Another group that I played with this summer, Raquel and the Wildflowers, from the Poughkeepsie area, are also doing great things. Shout out to the Rock Hearts, the other group Austin fiddles with. They’re great too.
AS: I mean, I would definitely have to reiterate the bands that Tom mentioned. We’re so steeped in the New England scene, we play so many shows, and my best friends are in so many of these bands. We’ve been friends with the Ruta Beggars forever. I mean, they were my earliest experience seeing young people play bluegrass music at Grey Fox. I just love those guys – they are so hardworking. They just got signed this year and are doing awesome stuff.
I go to IBMA every year with the Rock Hearts and I see some of the upcoming bands, and every once in a while one will really strike me, and the one that struck me this year was Never Come Down. I got to hang out with them in Colorado and I was hanging with the Stillhouse Junkies, who have a new player from New England that just joined them this year, so they’re a quartet now. They’re doing some really cool new stuff. Another band is Della Mae, and they’ve been around for a really long time, but they’re still producing amazing new songs. I mean, some of the songwriting that comes out of the group has absolutely made me weep, multiple times. Some of the songs are unrecorded—they’re still building a repertoire that’s really meaningful and really powerful.
I think we always have an eye on Twisted Pine, too, who just came out with a new album, and they have all these really fun videos, too. They’re doing something that I think we hope to do as well, which is kind of keep a foot in the bluegrass door, but also step into spaces that bluegrass music hasn’t been to. I think our music is suited for that, to get it outside of the traditional festival circuit, the traditional concert series, and preserve the tradition we’re so grateful for while also being innovative.
In her dynamic, restless career, Becca Stevens plans to never repeat herself, like the proverbial waterway that’s never the same river twice.
Since being noticed by New York Times jazz critic Nate Chinen in 2008 as a 24-year-old “best kept secret,” she’s collaborated with: David Crosby and his Lighthouse Band; jazz orchestra Snarky Puppy; the modernist ensemble Kneebody; pianist Brad Mehldau; harmony genius Jacob Collier; the neo-classical Attacca Quartet; and others. Her five solo studio albums, especially the mind-stretching and richly grooving Regina (2018) and Wonderbloom (2022), have mingled folk-grounded melodies and jazz-deep harmonies with pop dazzle. The common denominator has been her uncommon voice, which is conservatory-trained, but utterly unique and enthralling. She is, in my humble opinion, one of the finest overall musicians making song-based music today, a peer to 21st century savants St. Vincent and Madison Cunningham.
One frontier that remained for Stevens was, ironically, the most obvious for a singer-songwriter – the solo acoustic album. Her version of this venerable format finally arrived in late August with Maple to Paper, a 13-song collection that was shaped at every level by a series of landmark life events. After marrying Nathan Schram, violist in the Attacca Quartet, she gave birth to daughters in 2022 and 2024. Their family moved from New York to Princeton, New Jersey. Her mother died, as did her close collaborator and friend David Crosby.
Stevens alchemizes this season of change, love, and loss through songs that challenge conventional forms with rich and fearless lyrics that play at times like Emily Dickinson set to classical guitar. On the cover, she’s demurely naked behind a guitar. In the grooves, she’s as vulnerable as we’ve ever heard her. As she told me of her emotional multiverse of the past few years, “I felt uncomfortable about sharing it, but I also was like, well, if I’m going to do this, I might as well make it completely exposed.”
It’s easy to suppose that the changes of the past few years – moving, having children, losing your mom – made a solo acoustic record sound more appealing at both artistic and practical levels?
Becca Stevens: Absolutely, yeah. You’re spot on. Two things can be true. So the choice to do this album completely solo and from home both served the concept and integrity of the album. But it also was maybe the only way that I could have gotten it done during that time.
Just to put that into perspective, you know, there was the logistics of the grieving. The loss of my mom was super fresh, and I had a six-month-old who was part-time in daycare. And then towards the end of the recording and writing process, I was pregnant again. So there was the logistics of being a new mom, of having morning sickness, of being in a new place, of grieving my mom, and all of that was so much more possible to do from home. But I resisted it.
For a long time, I had the idea of recording the demos at home and then going into the studio. But I went back and forth a lot with Nic Hard, who mixed it with me. He also did Wonderbloom. And the deeper that we got into the material, the more crystal clear it was that the songs were best served if performed live – guitar and singing at the same time – and performed at home, where I was really in the character and in the feelings.
Did writing and making art feel like what you wanted to do under all those cross-cutting pressures and changes, or did you have to force yourself a bit through the work?
“Want” is maybe the wrong word. I felt like, at least for the grieving part, I had to do it because it was like I was going to explode if I didn’t do something. And it was a confusing loss – something that left me with a lot of questions. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been somebody who processes confusing emotions through writing songs or stories, or art in some way.
I felt like I needed to do it. But also, yes, there were times where I just absolutely did not want to and just wanted to lie on the floor. And I had to find a way to incorporate that as part of the process, so that I could forgive myself. I literally had a futon on the floor of my workspace, where I told that part of my brain, “You are invited to lay down there whenever you need to. You’re not at a studio. The clock’s not ticking. You’re not paying for this.” I called it my Womb Room. And I would put on salt lamps and put the lights down really low and lay down. And then some of the songs came from that space.
Some of these feel more like classical art songs than folk songs, in that they’re not shaped around a set number of measures or predictable beats. Did they feel a bit like that to you?
Yeah, the song “Payin’ to be Apart” comes to mind. It definitely felt that way; a little less folky, more like poetry that just happens to be on a wave of music. It’s interesting to hear you say that, because in the writing process – harmonically and in the accompaniment – I took a much simpler approach than what I have done before, on Regina or Wonderbloom, on everything really. Because I put so much intention and honesty and, like, blood, sweat, and tears into the lyric, I gave myself permission to let the waters that it was floating on be a little less turbulent artistically, a little less complex and a little more like I was trying to cradle them and deliver them in a way that takes care of them and makes it easier to metabolize – or something.
Was your mindset different, knowing there’s not going to be the grid of the drum beat? Can drums be a bit of a cage sometimes?
Yeah, they can be a cage. But they can also be like something that’s really cozy to lean on in the arrangement. Like, I can drop everything and have it just be drums and vocals for a verse and it feels really good. But for this album, I set a goal that the songs are meant to be performed as just me and the guitar, because that’s how they were recorded. That means that whatever break that I gave you in Wonderbloom by stripping down the arrangement and going to drums now needs to be created with whatever tools I have by myself, whether that’s narrative, or a right hand finger pattern, or fill in the blank.
This made me wonder how much you have performed solo acoustically in your career, given the emphasis on arrangement on a lot of your records.
Quite a bit, yeah. I have a lot of respect for my bandmates. And if there were ever gigs that we were offered where I felt like I couldn’t cover their fee and treat them well, I would just take it solo. I’ve done that a lot. I’ve done a lot of solo tours. A lot of my writing has started out solo, and I have solo versions – for example, “You Didn’t Know,” the song from Wonderbloom that was inspired from watching the documentary about R. Kelly. That song, I poured my heart out solo and then stripped the solo version back when I was in the studio turning it into the Wonderbloom version.
Solo feels like a home base to me, and it’s something that I think I’ve resisted, because maybe I felt like it wouldn’t be enough. There’s this narrative, especially in the booking world, that they don’t want to book you unless you have more than one or two people on stage, because it’s not enough to create the energy to get the focus of the audience. And maybe it’s not loud enough, you know? I also had that in mind. This might not be very marketable, but I’ve got to do my best to just serve these songs to the best of my ability. And it’s got to get done anyway, because this is how I’m processing this part of my life,
Meanwhile, your tempo of collaborative work never seems to let up. I have my personal favorites, but can you address some of your favorite partnerships here in the last few years?
We haven’t mentioned this yet as part of the story of this record, but knee-deep in the writing and recording stages of this album, we also lost David Crosby. I’d already gotten punched in the face and then I was like, kicked on the ground. Not that it’s about me. The whole world grieved that loss. As I mentioned, when I lost my mom, it was a very complicated grieving process. I took a lot of inspiration from listening to albums like Sufjan Stevens’s Carrie & Lowell, where it’s okay for grief to be ugly and complicated and to show that. But with Croz, it was so sad, because I loved him so much, and I loved being in his band, and I loved writing music with him. But the presence that he held in my life didn’t diminish. I couldn’t hug him, but there was this sort of heavenly presence when I was writing the songs for this album, where I could hear him and see him in my mind, kind of rooting me along.
And tell me about Michael League of Snarky Puppy and the universe that he inhabits with the GroundUP record label, which has been supportive of you all this time. It’s such a fascinating record company. I feel like they’ve got a lot to teach the music industry about curation and cultivation of a tribe, and I’d love for you to remark on how that model has served you.
I like the word tribe. I often think of it as family, but I think tribe is even stronger. I feel safe with that label in a way that I’ve never felt safe with labels before, especially major ones, where, if you’re not performing exactly the way that they want you to, you get kind of put on a shelf, and then your art doesn’t get heard because, because you’re not pleasing the corporation.
With GroundUP, I’ve always felt like whatever I’m getting into is what they want me to do. They’re like, “Your health and happiness and artistry come first and if that’s what you need to make right now, we’re behind it.” And I can’t tell you how liberating and comforting that is as an artist to know that the people that are helping you put your music out have your back. And we all love each other too. We all play together and love each other too.
And speaking of Sufjan Stevens, you got to be on Broadway in his Illinoise musical. What did that add to your world?
Yeah, it was a limited run on Broadway and I did half of the run. So I had Isla, my second daughter, on February 24 of this year. And then I got a call from Timo Andres, who did the orchestrations, saying, “I know you’re on maternity leave. This is crazy. I shouldn’t even be calling you, but I can’t not think of you for this role. Is there a world where you would ever audition for this?” I was like, “Yeah, I could audition and see what happens…” and didn’t expect to get it. I came in with my newborn baby. I handed her to my manager, did the audition, and they called me within a day and said they’d love for me to do it.
Initially I thought, “There’s no way.” I’m giving you all of this extra detail because a huge part of the experience for me was the chaos and the balance of the life that I was living at home for the first half of that day in Princeton – nursing my baby and being a new mama – and then handing her to my husband and jumping on the train for two hours, going into the city just in time to perform, and then coming back home and doing it all again and nursing through the night. It was this superhuman thing that initially I thought, “Oh, there’s no way this is going to work.”
The whole experience was like a dream state – being on stage and singing that music, which I’ve loved for so long. And also, having it not be about me was very refreshing. I’m not the band leader and I’m singing someone else’s music as a narrative that’s coming from the bodies of the dancers. We can lean on the coziness of the production, and just enjoy it.
I would say coming out of that helped me to be less self-absorbed. The headspace that I was in for Maple to Paper was very me, me, me, me, me, me. And then Illinoise was like, “No, it’s not about you. It’s about being in service to something greater than you.” Whether you’re writing a song about your feelings or singing somebody else’s, that’s always what it’s been.
Behold, fiddle nerds! There is a new foundational collection of tunes to sink your teeth into, from two of the foremost fiddle players in Swedish and American traditions. Brittany Haas (Nashville) and Lena Jonsson (Stockholm), are award winning instrumentalists and have been long time collaborators and friends. The duo recently released their second recording together, and their first in nearly 10 years. The Snake explores old-time and Swedish fiddle traditions with finesse and subtlety, but is even more ambitious in scope than their first, self-titled record.
As part of the new collection, Jonsson and Haas composed a three-part suite for two fiddles, made up of entirely original material, but inspired by the format and musical stylings of J.S. Bach. Over a video call between Nashville, New York, and Sweden, we discussed how to stay inspired on the fiddle, what guides their accompaniment choices, and what records folks should start with if they want to learn more about Swedish fiddle and folk music.
We’ve put together a playlist of their recommendations at the bottom of this piece.
Okay, this is a weird place to start, but I noticed a distinct lack of chopping on this album. Was that intentional? I mean as someone who played in a two fiddle format a lot, you only have so many options for how to arrange. Were you like, “WE WILL NOT CHOP” on this record?
Brittany Haas: [Laughs] Honestly, I didn’t even think about it! But you’re right, I think maybe there’s just a little bit of chop on “10 Days of Isolation?” And maybe, Lena, did you chop on “Fiddle Claw?”
Lena Jonsson: I mean, maybe I kind of chopped! I can’t really chop. I think part of it is that for Swedish tunes, chopping doesn’t feel as natural. It isn’t really in the tradition, so it wouldn’t be a “go to” choice. It would more be an option if you wanted to do something really different sounding.
BH: Yeah, in Swedish fiddle music, the most common way that fiddles play together is in harmony, but the harmonies are way more diverse than in American traditions. The Swedish harmonies are all over the place, you call it second voice I think.
Totally. And considering that the options are so open ended for harmony, how do you decide where to go with it?
BH: I think I’ve just heard it done a lot, and often the second voices will be lower, being more fluid with direction and rhythm. So when I’m playing with Lena, she will play under me, and then I don’t want to do the exactly same thing, so I might try and play something above her to explore and change it up.
LJ: The harmony above is really unusual in Swedish music, but now that I’ve heard Brit do it so much, I’ve started to do it and it sounds really cool, I love it!
BH: Because we’re just the two of us and because we are coming out of a heavily Swedish tradition on this record, the harmony is not so chordally rooted, it’s much more based on the melody and the implied chords can change completely from repeat to repeat.
That’s super interesting! So in Swedish music, what would the main chordal instruments be?
LJ: The chordal instrument would be guitar, accordion, cittern, or mandolin, an example is the band Dreamers’ Circus. But also, it’s a relatively new idea to play backup chords for fiddle tunes, so folks are always experimenting with how to do back up, but finding interesting ways to play it is always cool. For some tunes, it’s just really hard to define what are the chords are, especially with the the older tunes, the melody can be really open. So when you’re in a jam it can be very confusing, chordal instruments could be playing all completely different chords over the same tune. [Laughs]
Would it be fair to say that the Swedish tradition is very centered around the fiddle, and everything else is auxiliary?
LJ: Yes, I would say so.
You both have done a lot of playing in the old-time and Swedish traditions. In melding these two styles, I’m curious how you find a groove together? To me, these styles can traditionally land quite differently rhythmically, but it seems to be seamless between the two of you?
BH: My sense of that is that it happens pretty naturally and I think that the reason why we’re here, playing together, is because we naturally line up together on a groove.
LJ: I agree, I think that’s interesting too, to not be so decision oriented, to not say, “This tune should be traditionally this way,” or “That tune should be traditionally that way.” It’s more interesting to find the meeting of the two genres as it happens naturally.
BH: Over the years of knowing each other and playing together, we’ve probably come together groove-wise by teaching each other tunes, etc.
Of course, that makes sense. You’re learning each other’s groove within the tunes you’re learning from one another.
I wanted to ask you, there’s a really interesting series on the record called “Låt efter Back,” which is a three part composition, divided into Vals, Visa, and Polska, Can you tell me about it?
LJ: Yes! Well, I went to Nashville in March a few years ago to just visit and play tunes in Britt’s house, we didn’t have a plan to make an album. We started jamming and playing and writing typical tunes that we would write. But then, we decided to have a challenge, to write something in the style of Bach – and we wanted to write it in two fiddle parts at the same time, kind of inspired by the Bach double, so that the two parts are equal voice. It was fun but so hard, I mean much harder than the writing of a typical fiddle tune.
So, in writing this, were you through-composing it? Or were you creating a basic structure and then improvising around it.
BH: Somewhere in between, I think. I mean, sometimes we were improvising the harmony, but then that became how it went.
LJ: Yeah, because there’s long notes in the melody. You wouldn’t have those long notes in a regular fiddle tune, and it left room for another melody to come from the other part. I remember having the sheet music out, we were writing it out in front of us, and then moving things around, taking sections from here and there.
In using Bach as an inspiration, did you take any actual melodies from his work or were you just using stylistic inspiration?
BH: More the style, but we did examine it closely. Like checking out, “Where would he typically repeat a section? When do you move on from one idea?” So we were referencing it a lot.
LJ: Also, we looked at how the movements relate to each other – one fast, one slow, one medium – but we wrote it as a mix of that influence and our own, so that it would still have a part of fiddle music in it. I remember when we were on tour, there was a lady in Norwich who was a Baroque musician, and she thought it was inspiring to hear a Bach-influenced piece being played like dance music.
Yes, it’s like bringing “historical performance” full circle into the living tradition of fiddle music, which is in a way also historical performance.
Speaking of historical, it’s been some years since you two last recorded an album together. What inspired you to make this recording now?
BH: Well, we had both been doing different work for a while. I’m mainly in collaborative settings and not necessarily writing a bunch of music on my own, so it’s helpful to have someone who is really good at being creative to show up and bring me into that space. It’s really fun and I think easier than a lot of co-writing settings I’ve been in. This one is very fun and explorative.
LJ: This record was also easier, because there wasn’t a clear plan, like “We are gonna make an album.” It was kind of like, “Let’s see what happens.” I think that also opens up the creative space, because you don’t have pressure. You just want to find music that’s good and fun to play, and sounds nice. I think a lot of the time in the writing process, if it feels good to play, if it feels good on the instrument, then that’s a good indication that it’s a successful composition.
You two have both been playing fiddle music for a long time now. And as someone who struggles in my own relationship to the instrument, I’m curious how you stay inspired by the fiddle?
LJ: I’m super inspired by Brittany’s playing and in playing with her I learn so much and become a better fiddle player, so that’s a great way to stay inspired – and also a reason to do this project.
BH: I feel the same about Lena, I do think that seeing what someone else is doing is kind of the best resource for inspiration. Like, “Oh, there’s someone else doing it different than me, but it’s really cool, how does that work?”
LJ: Also, Instagram can actually be a source of inspiration, just checking out what everyone is playing and also listening to other styles of music, like classical music. Sometimes I work on a classical piece that’s really hard just to challenge myself. I don’t perform classical music, so it’s kind of disconnected from work and I don’t have to feel that I’m gonna perform it. It’s just there for me to grow and take inspiration from.
Here in the states, I think I understand where the fiddle as an instrument and fiddle music falls in the popular psyche. Of course there’s the nerds like me who go to fiddle camp, and the festivals like Clifftop that have their own entire subculture, but the general public also knows what fiddle music is as something that happens at barn dances or square dances and in their favorite country songs. They know of Charlie Daniels, and Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? And the fiddle licks in “Wagon Wheel” or Dave Matthews Band. I’m curious what relationship fiddle music has to pop culture in Sweden?
LJ: That’s a really interesting question. It’s definitely a sub-culture, but people know primarily of the fiddle players and dancers at Midsommar celebration, so everyone knows about that. But a lot of people don’t know that there are fiddle festivals and Swedish folk music, unless you’re from an area where there are fiddlers and more of a strong tradition. But there are some artists that break through a little bit, like Sara Parkman, who is a pop artist but will play a fiddle tune in the middle of her set.
But, at school for example, being a fiddle player is not “cool?”
LJ: [Laughs] definitely not. I mean some people come to school a little early just so they can hide their fiddle case away so nobody will see!
Well that feels pretty universal! Thank you both so much for your time and this wonderful album!
I was born into a music-centered family in small town Arkansas near “where the Delta meets the Ozarks.” My grandparents started a music store on the court square in the 1960s and they sold instruments and equipment, et al. – and also carried the top records of the day. So, music and musicians were infused into my life from birth and my family was at the center of a vibrant musical community.
At every holiday or birthday or community event, we played music together and sang with a cast of characters ranging from the local church organist to Sun Records session players. I thought every family was like that, but as I’ve grown older and a lot of those characters have passed on, I’ve realized how rare my upbringing was and I cherish it with all my heart.
I remember the voices and the sounds of the jams like it was yesterday, and I’m honored to make a playlist of some of the favorites we played and sang together. I didn’t discover a lot of the recordings of these songs until much later in my life because we played them by rote – or sheet music – at those beautiful, heavenly hoe-downs. These songs are the soundtrack of my early life. I’m honored to share them. – Bonnie Montgomery
(Editor’s Note: Scroll to find the full Mixtape playlist below, to enjoy while you read.)
“Precious Memories” – Merle Haggard & The Strangers featuring the Carter Family
I chose Merle Haggard and the Carter Family’s version of this hymn, because it’s the closest version to what I remember our hoe-down version sounding like. My grandfather Ivan would always request this song and all the old-timers would sing with such passion, and even tears. I remember the far away look in their tear-filled eyes when they sang it, and although I never felt it like they did back then, I loved the song. We always thought it was a funny selection too, because they would always sing it “pray – shush mam -ries” over and over, which made us laugh. But now that those faces are all passed and gone across the great divide, I feel it like my grandfather used to. Now, just like them, all I have is the memories. Sacred, precious, treasured memories gathered around the piano in my grandparent’s music room – in what feels like a lifetime ago.
“Your Cheatin’ Heart” – Hank Williams Sr.
I didn’t hear the recorded Hank Williams version of this until my late teen years, but we sang it as the grand finale of the Christmas Eve hoe-down every year. After hours of singing the entire catalogue of Christmas carols and standards, my grandfather would sing this one with the most volume and gusto of them all. My mother, or our dear family friend Teddy Reidel, would play a romping walking bass line on the piano with it. So when I went Christmas caroling with friends at age 11, I was ready for the big grand finale and started in on “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” but none of my friends knew it! It was then that I realized “Your Cheatin’ Heart” in fact wasn’t a Christmas carol!
“Born to Lose” – Ted Daffin
My grandfather always requested this song when I was playing piano, whether at the jam sessions or after school, when I would be practicing piano at their house. I never understood it, because the lyrics were so depressing and I wondered why anyone in their right mind would want to profess to being such a huge loser, ha! I remember practicing my classical pieces (I rebelled in the ultimate way by falling in love with classical music at a young age) and Papaw would holler “quit playing that long hair music and play ‘Born to Lose.'” By “long hair,” he meant classical, as in Handel or Beethoven’s long hair. I still laugh about that – instead of long haired hippies, he was talking about the wild artists from centuries ago.
“Sentimental Journey” – Doris Day, Les Brown & His Orchestra
This was my grandparents’ song. They would request this one and dance together every time we played it. During the Great Depression, my grandfather left Arkansas and went to California to look for work. Once he was there, he sent for my grandmother Frances and when she was out there, they got married. They both missed home terribly, so around 1943, when they finally arranged to go back, they had to go separately because of money. My grandmother was expecting their first child by then and had to ride all the way home from California to Arkansas in the back of pickup truck. She always called it her sentimental journey and you could just see the love between them every time we played this one.
“Tennessee Waltz” – Connie Francis
This was another favorite at the hoe-downs. I must have played it a million times while everybody danced and sang. And other times, when we were just hanging out at home, my grandmother would sit in a chair near the piano and ask me to play this one. She would have such a huge smile on her face and she just seemed to melt into the song. I’m so grateful for her encouragement with my musical endeavors.
“Sweet Dreams” – Patsy Cline
This was another of my grandmother Frances’ favorites. She was a fashion-forward, tall, beautiful red-head, full of life and fire. For small town Arkansas she was way ahead of her time. She started her own businesses (the music store was her main project) and ran for mayor in the ’60s too. She adored Patsy Cline and always thought she was so classy compared to the other female country singers of her time. We didn’t jam on this song, but we listened to the recording at full volume. The string arrangements from those Patsy songs have a huge influence on my string arrangements (arranged and played by maestro Geoffrey Robson) in the studio.
“Goin Down the Road Feelin’ Bad” – Woody Guthrie
My grandfather used to take us to his farm in Garner, Arkansas almost every morning in the summer. It was pure heaven for us as children – we could run wild and do whatever we wanted, ride horses, swing on the barn swing, go fishing, drive old cars and tractors around the farm, eat turnips straight out of the ground when we got hungry, crawl around with the pigs in the pig pen, and much more. We would sing in the truck with him all the way to the farm and he loved to sing this song and make up new verses such as, “I’m goin’ where the boys don’t blow their nose…”
That farm lives in my memory every single day – and incidentally, the highway it’s on (old highway 367), got named the “Rock and Roll Highway,” because it’s the road all the Sun Records artists would drive from Memphis to Helena back in the day. I didn’t know that when I was young, but it makes sense that Johnny Cash, June Carter, Elvis, Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins, etc. knew that road well.
“The Strawberry Roan” – Sons of the Pioneers
My grandfather on my father’s side, a wild cattle auctioneer named Leon Montgomery, used to drink his whiskey and burst in the door with his cowboy hat and a grin and croon out “Oh, That Strawberry Roan” as a greeting.
“Gonna Burn Some Bridges” – Ray Price
Ray Price was another familiar voice in the musical landscape of my childhood and is pretty much the ultimate crooner in my opinion. I’m including this tune because it’s direct inspiration for a song on our new album.
“I Was Fine” – Bonnie Montgomery
I’m including one of the songs off my new album, because it was inspired by the music of my childhood and, in particular, the music of Ray Price. My bandmate and engineer, Kevin, came up with a steel guitar riff that’s a direct nod to the steel guitar riff on Price’s “Gonna Burn Some Bridges.” We recorded this one with vibraphone and full string orchestra and I sang my heart out for Ray.
What changes about the oft championed phenomenon of “family harmonies” when the voices entwined together are not voices at all, but strings, plucked and bowed and fingered? It’s a question that immediately comes to mind as you hear the first notes of Haas, the recent duo album released by sisters, fiddler Brittany Haas and cellist Natalie Haas. It’s also a question that immediately came to mind as we chatted via Zoom last month.
“I feel like I connect more deeply with Brittany than anyone else from a rhythmic standpoint,” Natalie responds after a thoughtful pause. “That’s not so much the family harmony thing, but it does play into everything.”
The familial blend they’ve established as adults – in many ways, Haas is their first deliberate and intentional music making as a pair since their teen years – defies any and all boundaries and language, as they swap melodic hooks and call and respond and toggle between accompanying and leading, adding texture and tenderness or vigor and enthusiasm. Their interplay is as comfortable and cozy as you would expect these two sibling virtuosos to be together, their reunion the not-so-subtle underpinning that makes the entire collection of tunes and sets sparkle.
This is family harmony – and family rhythm – but unspooled, complicated, and set to a new acoustic, Celtic, chambergrass sound that defies categorization. Haas also gently and kindly stands in implied opposition to more masculine, performative, and competitive musicians and groups in similar spaces. It’s a brilliant, crave-able album that showcases how much can be accomplished musically when one’s goal isn’t just the cooperative music one creates, but the space one opens up with another in which you cultivate that cooperative music.
I wanted to start by just asking y’all how long it’s been since you put out music together, or since you’ve been in like a creative space together? How does it feel to be “reunited” in this way?
Natalie Haas: We sort of played together as kids in chamber music groups and youth symphony together. And we went to fiddle camps together – that was how we got excited about maybe doing music as a career. That would sort of continue throughout the year, because the way for us to continue all that excitement and motivation that we got at fiddle camps was for us to play together.
We did the odd gig together as teenagers, like farmers markets, school performances, and that kind of thing. Then we sort of went our separate ways and we’re both very busy doing our own thing, but we took every chance we got when other people would hire both of us to be on their gigs. We always said yes because we just wanted to hang out with each other. So this is like the first time that we’ve done anything like this and it’s pretty exciting.
The way that your musical paths have diverged, they don’t feel like they’re that separate from each other. It feels like the vocabulary that you both draw from is very similar. When you started sitting down to think about doing an album together, what changed about the way that you thought about music separately or together?
Brittany Haas: That’s a cool question. I think, it all felt kind of new in a way, but also so familiar, you know? Because it’s us. We have made a lot of music together. I think on my side, it was really cool because Nat already had a bunch of tunes. So some of [our collaboration] was just like, schedule based, it was like, “Okay, we know we want to do this thing, because we’ve been getting odd gigs.” It was really like motivated by the fact that we had shows coming up, and that was a reason to be like, “Let’s have new material for that.”
Then we were like, “Here’s our days when we can put together material.” Nat had just done a writing session where she had all this new stuff ready to go. These are the tunes that she’s cranking out and they feel very much like they come from something or some place that is like so near and dear to me, because it’s from our shared fiddle-camp upbringing. That’s like the source, the well, where the tunes come from, even though they’re new and different. It feels like very homey, I guess? The kind of tunes. And then I think we’ve just both grown a lot over the decades as musicians and as arrangers. We like bring more stuff to the table than when we were teenagers.
NH: I should certainly hope so! [Laughs]
That is the goal. [Laughs] That leads really naturally to my next question, which was going to be about material curation, especially because you both have demanding schedules that kept you apart, I’m sure, during the album creation to some degree. What was it actually like when you were like setting aside that time, like you’re talking about, to get together to make the music? What was the curation process like? It’s all originals, but one, yes?
NH: Yes. And yeah, that’s the nice thing about us both being busy is when you set aside a block of time, that’s all you are focused on. Brittany had all these amazing musical ideas and made all of my tunes better the minute she got her hands on them. The arranging process, it was pretty easy, because we’re both, comfortable switching back and forth between roles. I was just amazed at how much we got done in such a short amount of time, both in the arranging process and in the recording process. It all felt very easy. [Laughs]
BH: We did the bulk of it together, I think we had like a week or maybe slightly under a week when we first met to gather the material. And wasn’t that before we even knew we were making a record then?
NH: Oh yeah, that was preparing for a tour. Our first adult sister tour.
BH: No, no, no – second.
NH: Oh, second. Yeah! Because we toured Ireland. Right. We were playing all of these trad tunes, our shared repertoire from our of teenage years. And then for [Haas], we decided to make it all original. For the most part.
BH: Do you remember the moment when we actually said, “Let’s record this”?
NH: Uh… well, I think we toured it first. Then Brittany brings her handheld recorder to all of those gigs and recorded everything. We listened back to it and decided that it was actually pretty good and that we should make something of it. I think we had another tour coming up, of Australia, and we decided it would be fun to have something for people to take away with them.
BH: At that point, we didn’t meet again until a few days before the studio. We had arranged the material and toured it, so we kind of had it under our hands pretty good. And then a long amount of time passed, but during that time it was good to listen back to stuff and decide what we wanted to change.
We had like a couple days of rehearsals and revisions. That was from listening and emailing and saying like, “I have this idea about this. What do you think of that?” Then we had like three days in the studio before it went back to email, because Natalie lives in Spain and we’re also both busy doing stuff. So it was emailing like, “Do you like this take?” and, “Is it okay if I edit out the second B part on this?”
Did you trip into or over any sort of feeling like, “This reminds me of when we were playing together as kids” or did it feel like you were getting back on the bicycle in a way?
BH: I’d say mostly yes. It’s just really easy. I think in other collaborations, people aren’t always so willing to just try anything. We have this basis of, “I love you no matter what, and even though you’re being really annoying and you’re asking me to do something I don’t want to do, I’m still going to do it, because might as well.” It’s an ease of communication, which I think mostly comes from family. [Laughs]
NH: We were never really a band as kids. We did the odd gig, but it was always just for fun. Our parents weren’t pushing us into performing together. So yeah, no bad memories, really, associated with playing together as kids. But we do have the ease of having this shared history of fiddle camps and learning from the same kind of mentors.
BH: Since we’re both like primarily collaborators, this project was like running our own band. As adults we’ve both come into our own and we’ve probably become more opinionated about musical things as a result of that. So it’s fun to meet again where there’s a lot of give and take.
What do you think of the term, “chambergrass?” Is this album chambergrass? Is that even a thing?
BH: I like the term, but I’m not sure it applies here. I also don’t mind it applying here. I guess maybe that wouldn’t have been what I would have gone to, because from my perspective, it just feels so much more Celtic. It’s still in that sort of “past of American music,” that’s more over there in the Celtic Isles. It doesn’t feel very grassy, but I mean, that’s a part of me as a musician. So, it’s not like it’s not in there.
NH: It does feel like chamber music to me. Yeah… I’m not familiar with all of the myriad grass terms. [Laughs]
BH: We grew up going to Valley of the Moon Fiddle Camp, where there were a lot of genres meeting. So the boundaries were very blurred, and both of us having worked with Darol [Anger] from a young age, he’s all about blurring and negating the idea of boundaries. It’s everything, it’s all of that, it’s all the influences and where they’re going. I know the current Celtic world less than Nat does, but it seems like a lot of the forward-thinking, new tunes on stringed instruments are happening in chambergrass, the new acoustic realm, so it’s definitely an influence on both of us.
NH: It does have a Celtic bent, but it is Celtic from an American perspective – because we’re American. I’ve listened to a lot of stuff in the new acoustic realm – like Brittany said, all of our influences are coming out, and it’s hard to define a genre.
BH: I think Nat, for all of her “I don’t totally play bluegrass” sense of self, she can and she does sometimes. Some of the bluesier tunes that she writes lend themselves to that area.
You make very in-the-moment music, there’s a lot of improvisation, there’s a lot of dialogue, and this kind of music can often feel very – it’s silly to say this cause you’re literally performers – but it can often feel very performative and like there’s a lot of hubris in it. I also feel like new acoustic music, newgrass, jamgrass, and that sort of “Let’s jam out together, let’s be in the moment together!” music, it can often feel really masculine and toxic. How do you go about creating this space you’ve made together, to have those moments, to be together and present and making music, but it doesn’t feel like you’re being self-absorbed or self important?
BH: That is something I think about when I’m listening to music – and sometimes when I’m playing it. Sometimes I do feel like I’m uncomfortable, like that’s not something that I want to do. Even though you think that that’s what the music calls for in this moment, it can feel a little bit too masculine.
It’s like, “No, I don’t want to take a really long solo there.” I think I’m embracing that it’s okay to say, “No, I’m not gonna do that.” It’s a tricky one, because a lot of our heroes in that realm of creating this newer music, they’re men, and that nature is informing the music that they’re making and the way that they’re arranging it. It does have that hubris thing built into it. On some level, that is important and it does work well, for stepping into the moment and taking a great solo. You kind of have to have that attitude. But, it’s not necessarily masculine or feminine. Like it doesn’t have to be either one. It could be both.
What we’re trying to do, it’s a little more tune- or melody-based than based on soloing, so it lends itself well to a tight arrangement. That may not be the right term, because it still is loose, there still is a conversation going on. But, if there is a solo it’s pretty short, it’s this little thing we’re going to do to give a breath of fresh air here. It’s not like, “And now, we will rip for 50 more bars!”
“And now everybody look at me!”
BH: Yeah! I think in a duo especially, because we’re very equal and we like sharing, that’s just kind of part of the vibe. Even when Natalie’s filling more of an accompanist role, it’s still such a powerful, interesting sound. It’s so varied that it doesn’t fade into the background. It’s super interesting all the time. It’s like both voices are very equal, even if mine is higher.
NH: It’s interesting because, like Brittany said, a lot of our heroes are men. That’s definitely a generational thing in the Celtic music world, because like, the people that we grew up sort of – I don’t want to use a phrase like “hero worshipping” – that we admired and wanted to copy were mostly men, with a couple very key exceptions. But then, my generation in the Celtic music world is almost exclusively women. There are some men doing it, but it’s very different than the bluegrass thing.
Also like Brittany said, soloing is not as much a part of it. That changes the dynamic a little bit. But it is kind of a melody>accompaniment hierarchy going on. But I wouldn’t say that that’s necessarily a male thing, I don’t know.
As Brittany said before – and I hate to associate this with just feminine energy – but both of us coming from being collaborators in our other projects rather than soloists, per se, you could say that that is the more feminine approach, maybe, to music making. It does feel very equal because the melody playing is getting passed back and forth all the time. And it does feel very conversational, even though the soloing thing is not as prominent as it might be in some other genres.
I think that’s part of why you can listen through y’all’s entire album and it doesn’t feel stale, it doesn’t feel boring, while it also doesn’t feel like it’s trying too hard. It doesn’t feel like you guys have something to prove.
NH: That’s part of the thing with having done it at this point in our lives, it doesn’t feel like we have anything to prove anymore. We’re doing it because we want to, not because we’re trying to prove anything to the world.
Two of the most accomplished musicians in bluegrass – certainly two of the most notable women players in the history of the music – have joined together on a mind-blowing chamber-grass duet. Alison Brown, the first woman to win the Banjo Player of the Year Award from the IBMA, and Sierra Hull, the first woman to win Mandolin Player of the Year, joined forces on Brown’s recent album, On Banjo, and a classical-influenced original tune, “Sweet Sixteenths.”
Both Brown and Hull are virtuosic players adept in many styles and “Sweet Sixteenths” shows just how effortlessly they bring bluegrass improvisation and energy into what’s regarded as a more stoic format, creating an exciting, jaw-dropping, impossibly complicated – yet, totally down to earth – sound. Their synchronicity is just as impressive, inspiring a sort of wonder that chamber-grass is well known for: How much of this is planned out, and totally written-through, and how much is off-the-cuff and in the moment?
Bluegrass pickers are so well equipped to confound and delight us with these sorts of questions and that fact is no more apparent than in this live, studio performance video by Brown and Hull. We hope you also enjoy “Sweet Sixteenths.”
For a while, Chris Thile might have been the busiest man in bluegrass. The former public radio host has snagged four Grammy awards and a prestigious MacArthur “Genius Grant,” all the while maintaining his status as a founding member of Punch Brothers, the Goat Rodeo Sessions, and Nickel Creek, collaborating with plenty of other Americana firebrands along the way. But on his latest album, Laysongs, Thile slowed down.
A solo album in the truest sense — it’s just Thile and a mandolin, after all — the album was recorded by engineer Jody Elff at Future-Past, a studio housed in an old church in Hudson, New York. The setting was a perfect match for the religion-influenced album, which ranges from the biblical passages of Thile’s Christian upbringing to mythological ideas about gods and gathering from the Greeks and the Romans. Below, in the first of a two-part interview, BGS caught up with Thile about recording the new album, finding inspiration in memories from his adolescence, and the dearly missed joy of a packed concert hall.
BGS: You recorded this album in a church in upstate New York. What did that atmosphere lend to the album, whether purely sonically to the recording or more generally as inspiration?
Thile: That was such a stroke of luck in a time that felt like it was a little thin on luck overall. [Laughs] We were weathering the earlier stages of the pandemic in Hudson, New York, and someone told me about a church right in the middle of town that had been converted into a studio. I went and checked it out and played a few notes in there and absolutely loved it. It’s not the most awe-inspiring church, but there were stain-glassed windows and very odd paintings that all brought me right back to my childhood.
I never attended a grand, elegant church growing up. This was still a beautiful church, but it was helpful that it wasn’t, y’know, St. Patrick’s in downtown New York — that it had a whole lot of that whole human-beings-just-trying-to-do-the-best-with-what-they-have kind of a vibe. Getting to be there was really helpful in terms of getting into character for the songs that I was recording. So much of the record comes from solitude… Actually, the solitude of the pandemic felt a lot like the solitude of spending one’s adolescence in a church pew.
What do you mean by that?
I spent so much of my adolescent time in church wondering if I was the only person there who was doubting the existence of God, or who couldn’t not think about how attractive the girl two pews over was. “Wait, I’m going to hell now probably, right?” Or, “Wait, is there hell? What is going on?” The pandemic thrust me and a lot of other people that I know back into that sort of lonesome, existential monologue: “Has every single choice I’ve made up to this point been wrong, perhaps?”
The sort of strange dialogue that we have with ourselves late at night started reminding me of those weird dialogues I would have with myself in church. I could well imagine at 16 years old sitting in this pew at Christian Community Church in Kentucky. I could well imagine there was a little angel and devil on my shoulder kind of duking it out. The centerpiece of the record, “Salt (in the Wounds) of the Earth” is very much a grown-up version of that feeling—but you know, also, how grown-up, really? I’m 40 now, and so much of the time, this felt like a rebirth right back into adolescence, smack in the middle of the most awkward period of our lives.
I loved being in that church for all those reasons. It was so easy to put myself in the headspace I was in when I had written the lyrics or when I discovered the power of those songs that I didn’t write that are on the record. It just lent a certain weight to those performances.
Why did it feel like the right time to approach religion specifically here? Was there anything you felt you had to tread carefully around?
If there’s a silver lining of this whole incredibly disorienting and distressing affair, it’s the chance to gain a little context: to have been forced to take a massive step back and to take a look at our lives, whether we wanted to or not. One of the things I saw, in the midst of missing the community that I’d inserted myself into, was that community often ends up acting in ways that are similar to my experience of organized religion.
How so?
A lot of people who grow up with religion and veer away from it at a certain point are veering away from what they — what we — perceive to be a poisonous exclusivity, or habitual exclusionism. I think that’s one of the main turn-offs for my generation on organized religion. You start meeting people who aren’t welcome in the flock, and you start wondering why. Having taken a step back, I see the same kind of exclusionary behavior in my current community. If you take a look at your own community, it’s probably full of people who think a lot like you do, and who feel very similar to the way that you do about whatever’s going on right now, and who live in a very similar way. I worry that we, as human beings, are trading one messed-up thing for another messed-up thing.
I adore community. I love it so, so much. For instance, the Telluride Bluegrass Festival: I feel like those are the high holy days of my acoustic music-making community, and to be deprived of them is so painful. You feel cast adrift, untethered. I can’t wait to get back and I’ll never take that for granted again. But I also want to go back there with my eyes wide open as to whom I have habitually not welcomed into that community. What barriers am I being a part of unknowingly placing between people and that community that I love so much? And what harm is that doing that community?
Tell me about how that harm appears on the record.
There’s a lot in the record about coming together, but there’s also a lot in the record about our compulsive need to compare ourselves favorably to other people. In an effort to feel better about ourselves, we look for someone to feel better than. That’s what “Salt (in the Wounds) of the Earth” is about. I took a look at this thing that had been a big deal for me in my adolescence, The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis, and I was wondering: What would those demons be up to with me, right now? They would be preying on this compulsive desire to feel good about myself. One of the easiest, dirtiest ways to feel better about yourself is by looking at someone else and going, “Well, I’m better than that guy.”
In “Laysong,” the lyrics mention “drown[ing] out the enemy.” It made me wonder what it is that you consider the enemy — maybe it’s this comparison trap, maybe not — and how you drown it out.
When I wrote that lyric, the enemy was he or they that would talk loudest regardless of whether they had the best idea. “I’m gonna say whatever I have to say louder than anyone is saying anything else, and therefore it will be all that’s heard, and the discussion will be on my terms.” That felt like the enemy. And at that moment, in that lyric, I had to write it. It fit with the shape of the melody. The idea of drowning out the enemy — I couldn’t shake it, even though it’s not what I believe to be right. [Laughs] Hopefully you can get a sense of that in the performance, that it’s coming from an angry and not altogether balanced place. In that moment, I was pursuing the idea of drowning out the enemy with beauty, with restructuring, with anything, really. Let’s get a love song, let’s get a hard-times song, anything but a song about the front page of the newspaper.
The record starts there and ends with the Hazel Dickens song, “Won’t you come and sing for me.” When I get back into the concert hall, there’s no way I’m not ending my solo set with that song, the performance is going to be sincere—especially at the end of all this solitary music-making. [Laughs] But “Laysong” is very much like an altar call for the record. “Here’s what we’re gonna discuss.” Who knows where we’re gonna come out? I know that when I listen to a record, there’s a collaboration that starts there. I would love to imagine that happens when people listen to my records, too—that it starts a conversation. I can’t wait to feel that in the concert hall. No piece of music is done until you [the audience] hear it. And I am so dearly looking forward to that completion of this little bit of work.
Editor’s Note: Read the second half of the BGS Artist of the Month interview with Chris Thile.
Artist:Christopher Jones Hometown: Morgantown, West Virginia Album:Bach: The Goldberg Variations Release Date: May 7, 2021
Editor’s Note: Christopher Jones is director of the Appalachian Music Ensemble, a performing group at West Virginia Wesleyan College. He got his start, however, in the classical world. He holds a bachelor’s degree in cello performance, and a master’s and doctorate degree in music composition from West Virginia University. For his newest project, he has reworked Bach’s iconic Goldberg Variations for mandolin, banjo, and guitar.
In Their Words: “This project is something that I had thought about for a long time. Not necessarily that I wanted to record it myself, but that it was something that I really wanted to hear. When everything shut down last year and the world was upended, I made a split-screen video of the ninth variation, and then the second, and realized I might as well do a studio recording of the entire thing. I think I turned to this piece as something that had that satisfying and comforting sense of order and normalcy, even though the scope of the whole thing can feel chaotic. Each variation is an exercise in perspective, begging the question of ‘How many different ways can I look at the same problem?’ It was a lens to try and make sense of things.” — Christopher Jones
Photo credit: Lauren Smith
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